


The Bell

by AgateHearts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Slice of Life, quiet moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 16:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17186696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgateHearts/pseuds/AgateHearts
Summary: The moon is full of things that demand attention, but some of them are sweeter than others.





	The Bell

A small bell chimes over Chirrut’s head; he lifts his chin and listens, his mouth stretching into a wide smile as he traces the echoes of the notes, the shape of a doorway, the twisting line of the thin cord suspending the bell. Another gust; the bell jings again, light and free, sweet as cool water feels under his fingertips in the still of the morning.  
  
“Chirrut?”  
  
Baze’s voice brings him back to himself, centering him. The rest of the sounds of the marketplace penetrate his consciousness again, and he drops his chin and smiles at the other man. “I like the sound of that bell. It rings like a crystal singing.” Baze grunts, but the sound doesn’t feel unhappy to Chirrut. Chirrut taps his staff briskly on the ground once, then swirls his robe away from his knees and sets off briskly, Baze following. If Baze hesitates for a moment, well, it’s only a moment, and soon they’re well on their way to their next stop.  
  
The next morning Chirrut wakes after Baze, an unusual occurrence. He can feel the cool-warm fingers of light slanting through the crack at the edge of the window where the shutter isn’t locked in place. There’s no sound of breathing in the room; Baze isn’t there. Chirrut rises, stretching long and easing the tautness from his muscles, rolling his neck and sliding into his zama-shiwo forms.   
  
Chirrut’s completed his set and has dressed, putting the kettle on to boil, when Baze comes in. The swirl of Jedha wind carries fine sand and a whiff of dry acidity in its wake; Baze shuts it out firmly, levering himself out of his boots with practiced ease. Chirrut grins up at him wordlessly, at ease in the calm of the morning; Baze’s answering smile is silent, but Chirrut knows it’s there.  
  
Baze does take him by surprise in the next moment. Baze’s hand nudges his shoulder, closed into a fist. “Here.”  
  
Chirrut looks up from muscle memory habit, head tilting curiously, before reaching his hand up to rest on Baze’s. Baze uses his other hand to turn Chirrut’s over, setting a wispy-soft lump with a solid core into his palm before withdrawing. Curious, Chirrut rolls it in his fingers, then teases the silky fabric away. As it slides off there comes a cheerful chime, the rounded metal of the bell from yesterday singing even though it is dulled by his fingertips. Chirrut chokes out a sudden laugh, taken off-guard but delighted. “Why…?”  
  
“It reminded me of you, dreamer.” Baze sits next to him, resting his elbows on the table. The kettle is bubbling, a comfortable and reassuring sound. “Dreamer in the marketplace, listening to the song of a bell like the singing of kyber. It can’t distract you if it’s not there.”   
  
Chirrut laughs, setting the bell on the table and rolling it playfully across the surface. The bell jingles as though it’s laughing too. “I could argue with that, but I think I won’t today. This bell is too nice to listen to us bickering.” He can feel Baze’s grunt and hidden smile, and flicks the bell lightly toward him as he stands up. “Tarine tea? Or chav?”  
  
“Do you have to ask?” Baze’s disgruntled voice makes Chirrut chuckle again, and the bell rings in harmony with his voice under Baze’s hand, bright and free.   
  
Until the destruction of Jedha, the bell lives over their window. In the feathery drafts of evening or in too-quiet moments under either of their fingertips the bell rings, making their hearts just a little bit lighter.


End file.
